


Reap What You Sow/Tangled

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Jealousy, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two attempts at the <i>kinkme merlin</i> prompt: <i>'Arthur/Lancelot/Merlin, Arthur offers Merlin's services to Lancelot as a reward'</i>.</p><p>'Reap What You Sow' - voyeurism, boys being awkward, indecision, mildly-jealous!Arthur.<br/>'Tangled' - dub-con/dom/sub, angst, VERY-jealous!Arthur, confused motives and, uh, no <i>actual</i> porn.</p><p>While the prompt does actually call for a threesome, it never quite gets that far in this ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reap What You Sow

Arthur looks at the body of the chimera, and then up at Lancelot, who is breathing hard and still has his sword trained on the body of the beast.

'You saved my life,' he says, attempting to keep the incredulity out of his voice. But the fact of the matter is, he hadn't seen the thing coming, wasn't expecting such a strange attack on an impromptu hunting trip, and hadn't even managed to get his sword clear of its sheath before the thing hurled itself at him and Lancelot hurled himself at it.

As they watch, the blade of Lancelot's sword crumbles and breaks into dust. The chimera appears to have acid blood as well as claws, four heads, and nasty big pointy teeth.

'You're going to want a new one of those,' Arthur points out when Lancelot doesn't answer his first remark. 'I'll have the blacksmith start as soon as we get home - until he's finished making you one, you can use one of mine.'

'Thank you, your majesty,' Lancelot says eventually. When he meets Arthur's eyes, he's got the same look on his face Merlin gets sometimes - fear, mule-headedness, anger, mixing with relief now the danger is gone.

Arthur wonders sometimes what he does to deserve such devotion, such loyalty, such service. Such friends.

When they get back to the castle, Merlin meets them. His usual smile fades after one look at Lancelot, though Arthur tries to maintain a facade of normality.

'What happened?' he asks.

'Nothing,' Arthur says. He strides off, aware that behind him Lancelot is probably telling Merlin exactly what happened. He braces himself for nagging later.

***

Later, he's got Merlin up against the wall, enjoying his favourite hobby of coaxing noises out of his manservant, who is a lip-biter and a moan-stifler, when the other man pushes him away slightly and attempts to stand up straighter.

'You've got to start taking more guards out with you,' he says, trying to extract Arthur's hands from his trousers. 'Lancelot told me-'

'Oh, Lancelot did, did he? Well of course, I'm very _grateful_ to Lancelot for all his help.' Arthur knows he's being petty, but he was _trying_ to have a little private moment here, and mentioning other men kind of kills the mood.

'You should be,' Merlin says. 'You could have died, and then where would we be?' Quieter, he says. 'I'm grateful to him.' He looks away, dark lashes veiling his eyes, his mouth not quite pouting, but definitely defiant.

Beautiful and stubborn, and Arthur loves to push him.

'Oh?' he says archly. 'How grateful?' He grinds a knee up between Merlin's legs. Merlin gets the hint, and his expression changes to wickedness.

'How grateful do you want me to be?' he says, and while he might not be vocal in bed he knows how to act the wanton.

It started joking but by the end of the night, Arthur has a sweat-soaked Merlin frantic in his lap while he tells him, in great and glorious detail, all the things he wants to see Lancelot do to him, and all Merlin can say is 'God, yes, Arthur please, _please_.'

He checks again in the morning, of course, because promises made in the heat of the moment can't exactly be entirely believed, but Merlin stretches against him languidly and says 'If it's just the once? And you want me to? Okay. You can suggest it.'

***

When Arthur goes to lend Lancelot one of his spare swords, he broaches the subject of _reward_. When Lancelot actually works out what he's talking about, at first he's horrified.

Then he's intrigued. But still saying no. Apparently it's not honourable.

'Why not?' Arthur eventually has to ask.

'To- to come between a man and his-' Lancelot stumbles a little over the correct term for male lover, 'and his - and what's his ... I could never-'

'You won't be between us,' Arthur says. 'Although that could be fun too,' and he smiles lasciviously and watches Lancelot's ears turn maroon. 'He wants you, and I want to watch. We both have reason to be grateful to you.'

Lancelot still looks torn. Arthur leans in closer. 'I fail to see the downside,' he says quietly. 'Unless of course you don't find Merlin an attractive prize-'

'I do,' Lancelot says at the edge of hearing. 'I really- I do.'

'I do too,' Arthur whispers. 'And I like to see him happy. And I would like to see you happy. Consider it a ... a favour to me, as well as my attempt to express to you just how much your loyalty is appreciated.' A little louder he says. 'Think about it, Lancelot. My chambers, after supper tonight. If you're interested, that is.'

Lancelot shivers, then nods, just once, before he walks off.

***

Strangely enough, it's Arthur who gets nervous as Merlin serves him his supper and they wait for Lancelot to turn up.

'What's the matter?' Merlin asks. 'You're about to get the show of a lifetime, remember?' He nudges Arthur gently, laughing. 'Or at least that's how you described it to me.' He's remarkably relaxed.

'Nothing's the matter,' Arthur retorts.

'Bollocks. Are you afraid you'll lose me to him or something?' Merlin laughs.

Arthur doesn't.

'You- what? You really-,' Merlin instantly goes to his knees beside Arthur's chair, grabs Arthur's hand. '_Never_, do you hear me? Look, we can call this off if you think-'

'No,' Arthur says. 'I want to see this.' He reels Merlin in for a kiss, trying to dispel some of his own worry. He is unprepared for Merlin's reaction, for the filthy enthusiasm of it, as if Merlin is trying to burn the uncertainty out of him.

There is a knock at the door. Merlin immediately lets Arthur go and gets up to answer it. When Lancelot slips into the room, he looks as uncertain as Arthur feels. Fortunately for them both, Merlin seems to have the situation in hand.

He steps up to Lancelot. 'Hello,' he says softly, smiling. Lancelot can't help but smile back as Merlin takes his hand and leads him to the bed.

Arthur itches to join them, but plants his feet and curls his fingers around the arms of his chair instead. He wanted to watch, and he's _going_ to damn well watch. Watch his lover take another man to bed.

The thought fills him with anger and shame, but this was his idea, and he will not go back on his word. He will watch this.

He watches as Merlin kisses Lancelot, mouths closed, almost chaste. He watches as Merlin's fingers unlace the neck of Lancelot's shirt, but go no further, fisting in the fine material at his sides as the kiss becomes more heated. Lancelot's hands, by contrast, are busy, unwrappping Merlin's scarf, pulling at his disgraceful shirt, baring inch after inch of skin to Arthur's jealous gaze.

Why on Earth did he suggest this?

He doesn't realise until Lancelot's hands, having finished with shirt and scarf, travel back up to cradle Merlin's face, that they both have their eyes open, watching him.

Arthur feels his lips part, his pulse increase, without so much as a by-your-leave from his brain. The reaction is instant, instinctive. _They are putting on a show for me_, and suddenly Arthur is eager rather than angry.

Merlin has seen it, the change in Arthur, and he grins. Suddenly he draws Lancelot's shirt up and off, and throws it mischievously at Arthur, who ducks. When he looks up, Merlin has climbed into Lancelot's lap, and it strikes Arthur just how gangly and pale his manservant is, how prominent his joints. Arthur has always been fascinated by Merlin's wrists but now he can see the whole linkage of Merlin's upper body.

Lancelot eyes Arthur carefully and deliberately before bending his head to suckle at Merlin's collarbone. Merlin tips his head back and moans - he's getting close to gone, making noise like that - but doesn't close his eyes.

Arthur's hand drifts between his legs, his knees fall open, and heat comes to Lancelot's face.

How had Arthur not noticed him before this? Not noticed the curve of his lips, the darkness of his eyes? It's too tantalising, seeing Lancelot do what Arthur would like to be doing, but controlling himself is equally sensual, especially when he knows that on the bed, Merlin and Lancelot are aware of him.

They're speeding up now, panting at each other, always with one eye on Arthur as their breeches go the way of their shirts, and they touch each other, tentative at first, but when Arthur allows himself a breathy groan at the sight of them they push the pace. Arthur's hand worms its way inside after that, he ends up pushing his breeches down as far as they'll go, settling back and keeping to the rhythm they set.

Merlin is under Lancelot now, rolling his long body with one knee bent up, cradling Lancelot's hips in just the right place that Arthur can see everything, every place, every thrust, every tiny fragment of contact between them, as Lancelot props himself up on strong arms, head hanging low, each shuddering breath rippling through him. They rut together like that, simple and intoxicating, as if there is no need to go further, as if this, just touch and heat and each other, is enough.

But still they do not look at each other, will not look away from Arthur. There are three people in this room, three people in _this_, or so the other two are determined to make it. Arthur fists himself tighter, digs his fingernails viciously into the arm of the chair that he's still grappling with ... and closes his eyes.

Now the noises assault him, noises he never heard before - breathing harsh, rasping, gulps, moans no louder than the slither of a sword from a sheath, and the tiny sticky sounds of skin catching and sliding on skin.

'Arthur,' Merlin breathes, and Arthur feels his eyelids tremble, wants to look, but wants to let them have their space. He suggested this, this was his idea, this is for Lancelot, for Merlin, he shouldn't, he _shouldn't_ ...

'_Arthur_,' Lancelot moans, deep in his throat, choked, and Merlin whimpers. Arthur's hand stutters, his hips lift, shove once, twice more, and he feels the burn of lust flare, feels himself go over that edge.

He feels boneless, melted into his seat, almost too lazy and sated to bother wiping his hand off, though not quite.

'Arthur?' Merlin says, almost croaks. Peeling his eyes open is harder than it should be - Arthur must have been squeezing them shut with all his might. The sight on the bed almost makes him shut them again, almost makes him groan, feel that thrum of arousal build in him again, because they are a sight, naked and sprawled, Lancelot over Merlin.

'Yes?' he manages.

'I should go,' Lancelot says, pushing himself up and making a face at the stickiness between them. Merlin throws Arthur a look, but doesn't protest.

'Only if you want to,' Arthur says, as offhandedly as he can manage. Half of him wants to ask Lancelot if he's up for another round, and this time he's _not_ just going to watch, but that would be too ... No. Not now, at least. The other half of him is feeling violently possessive of Merlin, and wants to gather him up and kiss him, kiss the memory of anyone else's hands and mouth and skin away, smell the scent of Lancelot on Merlin's skin, savour it, and savour the fact that the scent is all that remains.

Arthur knows he can be selfish, and doesn't care. Selfishness is like that.

'I ... thank you,' Lancelot says, marshalling his clothes without making eye-contact. 'This was an experience.'

'Come back some time,' Merlin offers, this time deliberately ignoring Arthur. Arthur grits his teeth, but now Lancelot does look up, and he's smiling. He understands.

'I wouldn't want to come between you,' he says, like he said before, and having pulled his shirt over his head, now fully dressed, he extends a hand to Arthur.

Arthur takes it, shakes.

'Maybe another time,' he says, and feels like he could mean it.


	2. Tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much darker than the previous attempt.

'I think I should reward Lancelot for his service,' Arthur says one night, carelessly, and Merlin puts down the wine-jug and stares at him. He knows what Arthur means.

He cannot deny the flush the idea brings to his face.

Arthur catches him by the arm as he walks past, deliberately provocative and close. They have been at this, this _expansion_ of Merlin's duties, for only a month. It is still new.

It is still dangerous - there is still an edge to Arthur's anger no matter how many times Merlin tries to show him that he is Arthur's, all he is, all the powers he commands, all that he can do; all that is Arthur's.

Arthur is a loyal man and his father has commanded that loyalty for all of his life. Merlin knows it cannot be set lightly aside. Arthur is nothing if not a tactician, however, and Merlin knows he has his uses, magical and otherwise. It suits Arthur to keep Merlin alive, on his side. He is storing treasures up for future use - Merlin, Lancelot, Gwen. Not the tools his father would have chosen, but useful.

For himself, Merlin knows his destiny is twined with Arthur's, his life, his love, his lust - they all centre on Arthur. Fate made it so. Fate knew what it was doing, evidently, for Arthur's sharpness, that line between force and hurt, that is a line Merlin loves to walk. Loves to be _told_, to be ordered, so that he can argue. Loves to be taken, so that he can resist, or to be taunted, so that he can rail at injustice. He loves to fight, to be defeated.

And Arthur loves to push, to defeat, to win. Truly, they were made for each other. Two sides of a coin, the dragon calls it, but Merlin thinks of them as two _halves_ of a coin, two halves of a silver sixpence, a love-token wrenched asunder by the blacksmith's pliers, twisted and warped to breaking point but fitting back together. Not perfect - with a certain amount of wastage - but infinitely better than they'd fit anywhere, anyone else.

But Arthur likes to prove he is the master of this situation, with the flat of his hand, sometimes, or with rope or chain, and though he'll fight it every inch of the way, Merlin likes that too.

So when Arthur says he wants to _reward_ Lancelot, and looks at Merlin like that, in that calculating way, Merlin knows what he means. Arthur has a new game.

'No,' he says, pulling his arm free from Arthur's grip. 'Arthur, no. I won't do it.' By which he means, of course, _Make me_

'Oh, but you will,' Arthur says, standing and following Merlin towards the door. He grabs Merlin's shoulder and spins him, pushes him against the wall and holds him there, breathing hotly. His hands are careful, belying his manner and his voice, which is threatening. 'Because I want you to.'

'You want me to take Lancelot to bed?' Merlin asks, as harshly and incredulously as he knows how. Arthur's hands around his wrists are hot and they tighten at the question.

'I want Lancelot to take _you_ to bed,' Arthur retorts. 'I know he looks at you. I know you shared a bed the first time he was here.'

'Nothing happened!'

'Was he gentle with you? Did he think you were what you look like, some sweet, stupid peasant boy? Did he treat you like that, rather than like the danger you are?' Now Arthur's manner is suggestive as it is angry, and Merlin has known nights in his rooms being treated like porcelain just so Arthur can hear him moan and demand - being treated like an innocent to make his guilt sting ever sharper.

He doesn't know if he likes that better than the other times, times like this, up against the wall all hard and honest. He just doesn't know.

'Arthur, we- he never-' Merlin's control is slipping, siphoned off by Arthur's proximity and his fierce joy. 'Only you-'

'I know.'

Merlin doesn't tell Arthur Lancelot knows about his magic. He doesn't know how he'd react to the news, doesn't want to know just yet, not today. He trembles at the thought, though, because Arthur will be angry, he knows that much. He sags, just a little, and Arthur knows he's won.

'Get on the bed,' Arthur says, voice low and triumphant. He lets Merlin twist away, looks on approvingly as he settles himself against the pillows to wait.

The slam of the door echoes down Merlin's spine. This is exactly where he wants to be.

He is lucky to be alive, he knows that, because Arthur should have killed him the moment he knew of Merlin's magic. Instead, he has the prince's confidences, his secrets, his body and his bed. He knows Gwen disapproves, knows Gaius counts every bruise he sees on Merlin's flesh, but they doesn't understand this, they don't understand what this _is_.

They don't understand this is the only way to let it all out, Arthur's anger, Merlin's frustration - they fight and they throw things and they shout and rail at each other and Merlin shoves Arthur away with his power and Arthur bends Merlin over his knee, all in the privacy of stone walls, thick doors. Safe. They are a buffer for each other - they love while they fight, they fight while they love. Who else could withstand them? Who else can they turn to, with their secrets and their strengths?

And if Arthur wants Merlin to bed Lancelot, Merlin will do it. There will be a reason for this somewhere - Merlin will winkle it out of Arthur somehow, afterwards - but his not to wonder why, his but to do or die.

It doesn't take long for Arthur to come back, trailing Lancelot. The knight looks around the room, starts towards Merlin when he spots him. 'Are you-'

'He's fine,' Arthur says, darkly amused. 'You don't think I'd _force_ him to do something like this, do you?'

Lancelot looks from Merlin to Arthur, clearly feeling the heat and the tension in the room. Merlin lets himself relax just that little bit more, lets his limbs untense and unfold, display. Eventually Lancelot smiles. 'No,' he admits.

Which is funny, because Arthur _would_ force Merlin to do something like this. Or rather, because he can never really force Merlin to do something against his will, he will push absolutely every boundary and button he can find just to try and reach that limit, that place where Merlin will slam him back properly and say _No_. So far, he hasn't found it.

'There you have it, then,' Arthur says. 'The reward for your valour awaits you, Sir Lancelot.'

And with that, he leaves. Merlin hadn't expected that.

'Merlin?' Lancelot asks, moving closer. 'What is this?'

Merlin tugs his neckerchief off and reaches for the hem of his shirt, knowing that the matter-of-fact will affect Lancelot far more than the seductive. 'This,' he says, and stretches, 'is whatever you want it to be.'

He has no idea what Arthur wants now - he'd thought they'd be being watched, directed, that maybe there'd be three of them in the bed, but if Arthur's gone, then they can do what they want.

Lancelot's gaze is fixed on Merlin's face, resolute. 'What do _you_ want?' he asks.

'We'll be here all night if you keep doing that,' Merlin points out, grinning. He pats the bed. 'Come on.'

Lancelot sits, awkwardly. 'Arthur told me he had something for me,' he says. 'He didn't tell me it was-'

'He didn't even hint?'

'Well-'

Merlin takes Lancelot's hand, lifts it to his lips. 'He told me he wanted to reward you,' he says. 'But I won't do anything if you don't want me to.'

'My friend,' Lancelot says, a storm of emotion in his eyes, and of the two of them, Lancelot is the sweet, innocent peasant boy, whatever Arthur says. Lancelot is far too good for games, thinks Merlin, too good to be stuck between them and their ugly nonsense, so he kisses him gently on the lips, and reaches for his own shirt.

He gets dressed again, Lancelot's fingers helping him with fastenings.

'It's not that you aren't-' Lancelot says, and Merlin, seeing where his eyes and hands avoid, knows he tells the truth. 'But you are his and I ... I have my own aspirations,' he finishes.

He watches Gwen like a man in church before an altar, and Merlin knows it. He is too good a man to rush in and overwhelm her, but while he watches, he imposes his own fidelity upon himself.

Yes, he is far too good to be dragged into this midden. Apart from anything else, this midden is _Merlin's_, and he likes it that way.

***

Merlin, decidedly undebauched, finds Arthur in the stable hayloft.

'Did he treat you well?' Arthur asks, his tone studiedly disinterested.

'He didn't touch me,' Merlin says, sitting down next to his prince.

'But I-'

'Arthur, you can do what you want with me. You know that. But leave Lancelot out of it.'

Arthur turns his face to Merlin, and there's something like sorrow in there with the frustration of being disobeyed.

'What was the point, anyway?' Merlin asks. 'You can't get rid of me that easily,' he says, attempting to joke.

'This isn't about you, _Mer_lin,' spits Arthur, standing up and going over to the tiny window. He thumps his fist into the wall. 'You were supposed to please Lancelot.'

'He doesn't want me, Arthur, not like that. And you're a rubbish liar. This wasn't about him. Tell me what the matter is.'

It's easy to be defiant, here in this quiet space with the soft noises of the horses below them. It's easy to needle Arthur, because this is more Merlin's territory than his.

Arthur snarls and turns his head away - Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder.

'My father suspects there is a sorceror in Camelot town,' he says roughly. 'I am to spend the evening watch hunting them.' He shrugs Merlin off angrily. 'Do you have any idea ... one day that could be you, Merlin.'

Ah. This old familiar argument.

'It won't be.'

'I won't be able to protect you forever.'

'Do you honestly think I need your protection?'

'So how many of my men will you kill to escape?'

'Arthur-'

'Come on then, _sorceror_,' Arthur spits. 'You can save your life right now, all it would take is mine in exchange.'

'Arthur, you know I can't-' Merlin falters. There is so much tied up in this knot of Arthur's - duty, law, loyalty. Father, lover. One day, one of those threads will snap, and Merlin doesn't know which, or if Arthur will hang himself in this cat's cradle before that time comes.

'Don't you _see_?' Arthur's voice cracks. He grabs Merlin, shoves him to the wall again, shaking him like a doll. 'Don't you see? I can't - you're treason, Merlin, you're treason through and through and it's not _right_ but what else can I do? Keep the law and kill you? Damn the law and keep you? All it'll take is one slip and it'll be out of my hands anyway.'

His fists tighten, catching skin along with cloth over Merlin's collarbones, his mouth is set in a hard line. 'I wanted you to- why won't you go to him? Why won't you go _with_ him? He'll keep you safe.'

'Because I'm _yours_.'

Arthur laughs, harshly, and kisses Merlin, and it's just the same argument by other means, but that's all Merlin has ever wanted.

Because they're twisted but they're twisted _together_. Because the best way to reward Lancelot is to keep him out of it. Because Arthur is his, or because he's Arthur's. Because ... Because.

Just because.


End file.
